You’ve seen me walking down the street; I’ve sat next to you on the train. I’m there when you eat breakfast in the morning, and wait patiently as you lay awake at night. I’ve called for your help, but you’ve never turned around. When I wish for warmth, the sun always sets. When I hope for company, the room always empties. The world covers me in shadow so that you can step into the light. The sacrifices I make give you prosperity and my suffering brings you happiness. My name is Kelly Adams, and I don’t exist.
The Ghost Writer
